5 July 1815, London
With the start of each Parliamentary session comes the Season, and London becomes even more of a bustling city than it already is. Townhouses that have stood vacant for months on end can finally have their shutters and doors be opened and aired, the dust covers over the furniture within lifted and shaken, the silverware stored in cupboards washed and polished.
The young marriageable women and their mothers would descend en masse on the shops along Bond Street to ready themselves for the rounds of parties and balls and assemblies in the hopes of finding a husband.
Adelaide's mother was no exception. They had attended endless rounds, but they hadn't been successful.
However, they were near the end of the Season now. Parliament was due to close in a week and the aristocracy was preparing to decamp to their country estates. But Lady Healey hadn't yet given up hope.
Hence, they were out for a soiree at Lady Holland's. The countess had invited a number of those she considered her acquaintance and Adelaide was fortunate that her mother could count herself as one of those who was close enough to be issued an exclusive invitation.
She should have danced every dance and beguiled the gentlemen in attendance — who were many since Lady Holland was also hoping for her daughter to make a good match — but tonight, her heart hadn't been it, not like it had just yesterday at Almack's.
Her body might be here in the drawing room, watching the men and women dancing the quadrille. But her mind was back in her father's townhouse, specifically on the letter her childhood friend, Miss Beatrice Dryden, had sent to her.
She hadn't had the opportunity to read it yet but the letter would bear news about the village her father's main seat bordered, and the tenants of Healey Manor. Beatrice was the daughter of the rector in charge of the parish Healey Manor was located in. And because she accompanied her father on his rounds as he visited the parishioners, she was able to deliver the ongoings to Adelaide.
In her previous letters to Beatrice, they'd discussed what might be done to help the wounded and the widowed. She'd set aside some of her pin money for her friend to use to carry out their plans — false legs for those who needed them and someone to help the widows to farm, look after the children or whatever help they required. Beatrice was supposed to inform her of the progress she'd made.
Ever since she followed her father to visit his tenants two years ago, the view she had on her life changed. She was no longer the naive, sheltered girl who only cared about the latest bonnet trimmings or the lace patterns one had to have on one's dress.
That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy all those things, or the attention the gentlemen showered upon her. Frivolity had its purposes, but she never took what she had for granted.
Her views were decidedly different from the other debutantes, and even many of the older titled gentlemen who were potential husbands did not seem to share the same beliefs she had about rendering assistance to those who ensured they had food on the table, or cloth to make the fine dresses and distinguished coats they wore. And even those wounded in the war, for the brave soldiers had ensured war never reached England's shore.
At the beginning of the Season, she'd innocently shared her thoughts on this matter. Many had looked quite put off by her conversational topic and she likely would have found herself exiled to be with the wallflowers had she not quickly realised such discussions did not take place amongst the Season's activities.
Or at least among people she were acquaintances with.
And so she created the image of herself as being like the other debutantes. It helped that her mother ensured she wore only the most fashionable gowns — which many had complimented — and had her brown hair dressed in the latest styles, thus she was able to pass herself off as one who cared only about frivolities.
The only person she could have these conversations with were her father, and sometimes her brother — when he was around, which were very infrequent. Even then, her father did not indulge her on many occasions.
He'd once remarked that if she were a man, the House of Lords and the House of Commons wouldn't stand a chance against her. She'd bemoaned then that she were not born male, and that her sex — though considered fairer — lacked many privileges. And any privileges she enjoyed as an unmarried person diminished the moment she took on a man's name.
Lady Healey had been horrified to hear her only daughter dismiss the prospect of marriage and had tried to change Adelaide's mind about it.
There had been many a disagreement over this with her mother until she'd promised to at least try and be agreeable to having a Season.
Thus, here she was, in London, smiling, dancing, meeting new people.
Attempting to not feel trapped in her circumstances.
Doing her utmost to make the most of it.
Trying to formulate a plan where she wouldn't incur the greatest loss of power, that she'd be able to do the things that matter to her most even after marriage.
Later that night, as they made their way home in the carriage, her mother rattled off the list of men she'd met at Lady Holland's that would make good husbands — based on their income and ancestry — and she wanted to Adelaide to continue furthering their acquaintanceship even while they were in the country.
She'd met some of them multiple times since the start of the Season. She'd even had the opportunity to converse with them.
However, none met her requirements of what made a "good" husband. She knew she needed someone who had political leanings, who cared about the things that she cared about.
Someone who could make the changes she couldn't do on her own.
Although not marrying would also be ideal.
Even if people called her a spinster and her mother abhorred the idea that her daughter would be alone for the rest of her life, being her own person and not at the mercy of someone else who had absolute power over her was more than satisfactory.
But she couldn't allow her mother to know of her ideas. Not if she wanted to eventually persuade her parents to let her have her dowry for herself should she not be able to find a suitable husband.
No, she had to appear as if she were searching for a husband. Otherwise, her mother might suspect her of deliberately undermining the process. And she could see that she had succeeded thus far, for her mother seemed none the wiser. Though in the countryside, she wouldn't be under intense scrutiny by her mother, and she was looking forward to that respite.
Adelaide stumbled upon an idea.
"Mama, will you allow me to marry someone if he sat in the House of Commons?"
The viscountess stared at her, and even in the poor lighting that filtered in from the lamps on the streets, she could see a cautious expression on her mother's face.
"Why do you ask, dearest? Have you met someone who sits in the House of Commons?"
She shrugged. "Not particularly. I was just curious."
"There are sons of peers in the House of Commons. Are you referring to marrying them?"
"I suppose, yes." It was as best an evasive answer she could give without showing her hand.
Her mother frowned — and she knew the answer she'd given was not satisfactory, and that there were doubts in her mother's mind — but her features smoothened into a smile soon after.
"As long as your father approves of him." Her mother reached out to stroke Adelaide's cheeks, and she saw the love and affection in them, which made her heart clench. "You do know that we only want what's best for you."
"Yes, I know Mama." She had to swallow the familiar refrain that she would utter after that which always resulted in an argument — you don't know what's best for me.
She couldn't antagonise her mother. Not if she wanted to win this and secure her future. Thus, she conceded this battle. Only because it would help her win the eventual war for her freedom.
˜*˜*˜
Garrett glanced out the window as the carriage rumbled past Hyde Park and the promenading men and women of the ton who were out.
He couldn't quite understand some of the aristocracy's preoccupation with being seen in spite of the weather. Or flaunting their many acquaintances. They were such an incestuous lot, everyone was an acquaintance of everyone — be it through marriage or school.
Yet somehow everyone still competed to call themselves acquaintances with the most powerful in the country. Even his father, with his seat in the House of Lords, needed to rub shoulders.
And because he would be the next Lord Healey after his father passed on, he needed to rub shoulders too.
Hence, he was in London because Parliament was in session. His mother wanted to him start looking for a wife too, but he felt it wasn't the right time.
However, she was relentless and he needed to escape. Thus, his trip to White's. At the gentlemen's club, at least he would be away from his mother's constant reminders and bald-face hints with lists of eligible women on his table.
Unfortunately, his sister wasn't as lucky. She couldn't flee their mother's clutches for an unmarried lady always had to have a chaperone.
The carriage stopped outside White's and he got down, stepping into the warm interior. He knew his parents were not angling for either of them to make an alliance through marriage, which made the whole business less distasteful.
However, it would certainly make marriage more palatable if he someone who had the same goals as him. While he hadn't any concrete political plans but from conversations with his sister, he knew reforms had to be made. Even if they could only start at home first.
And with the long Napoleonic Wars just over, he knew England would need help to recover. As did the Continent.
As ever, whenever he thought of the war, his friend, Wyndham, would come to mind. It had been less than a month since Napoleon lost at the Battle of Waterloo and the news had only reached them about a week ago, on June 22nd.
He hadn't heard from Wyndham in months, especially not when the Hundred Days War started, and while he was anxious for news about whether his friend survived the Battle of Waterloo, he wasn't confident with the postal service after the war.
He'd considered writing to Wyndham's brother but decided against it. If there would be news to be had, he would receive it.
He found a spot in the reading room and asked for a copy of the morning's newspaper to be brought to him and settled into the chair to read.
A large shadow suddenly fell over the paper and didn't move. He looked up in irritation, but whatever he wished to say died on his lips when he realised who it was, and he let out a shout of surprise, loud enough to draw the attention of several gentlemen who were seated nearby.
He didn't notice their frowns for he was on his feet, newspaper abandoned, grasping and shaking the hand of the man who he'd known for the better half of the last decade.
"Wyndham! As I live and breathe." He clapped a hand on the shoulder of his good friend and realising belatedly that a quiet room would not serve, led him from the reading room lest they disturb the rest.
In the billiards room where a little noise would be swallowed up the raucousness, he found an unoccupied chaise longue and seated them down. "Welcome back!" Such was his joy at seeing his good friend return to England looking whole — though a little gaunt — that he couldn't stop the face-splitting grin from forming. "It is truly good to see you appearing before me with nary a scratch. My mother would be extremely pleased. Nay, overjoyed I reckon."
He noted that Wyndham's smile, though wide, didn't quite reach his eyes — which looked tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping well.
"Aye, thank you, Kendall. It is good to be back on English soil, though the weather hasn't been as welcoming as your words." They both chuckled darkly at that. Winter had been absolutely ghastly.
"I suppose you have been to see your family."
"Yes." The weight in that single weight didn't escape Garrett, who knew just how heavy it was. And he left it at that. "Christopher is in town and I came here to visit him."
"I take it you haven't been our townhouse yet."
"I did actually, but apparently your mother is out at the modiste."
A little laugh escaped. "Yes, she is spending an inordinate amount of time there, in part because of Adelaide's debut. Though I have told Father that I think Mother just enjoys being able to come to London to shop."
"Your sister's debuting?"
"Debuted. Mother was beside herself when we were at Court for Adelaide's presentation to the Queen." He leaned back against the back rest. "Because she is eighteen and has made her come out, I've been commandeered to escort them to some of the assemblies and parties and whatever amusement there is to be. And make introductions so that Adelaide might be able to find a suitable husband."
"You don't sound terribly excited."
He looked at his friend as if he'd grown an extra head. "Are you mad? I'm subjecting myself to being scrutinised by other debutantes and women of marriageable age. It's enough to make a grown man wish he were dead." The stillness he felt emanating from his friend had him almost leaping out of his seat as he realised his misstep. "I-"
"It doesn't sound particularly dreadful. Having many women look at you." The smile Wyndham sent his way somewhat calmed his beating heart. "It sounds like Heaven actually."
"If Heaven were a marketplace for horseflesh, then yes."
Wyndham scoffed. "Surely it cannot be as horrifying an experience as you've described."
"It is. You should come see for yourself." Garrett snapped his fingers. "You can come to Lady Towing's party that I'm escorting Adelaide to three nights from today. I'm acquainted with the host and I'm certain I can persuade him to have his wife include you in the guest list." At the other man's hesitation, he played his trump card. "I didn't take you to be a coward."
At the fire he saw in his friend's eyes, he smothered a grin. "I will be there."
He clapped his hands together. "Splendid. I'll have the invitation send round to your accommodations. Are you staying with your brother?" Wyndham gave an affirmative nod, and Garrett knew things were all right with them.
Reaching out to place a hand on his friend's shoulder, he squeezed it affectionately. "It is good to see you, old chap. London seems less frightful now that you're back. Come," he stood up, "let us go see the rest of our friends. We must have them buy you a drink a celebrate your triumphant return!"